


Dirty Sweet

by lovelikerain611



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Female reader insert, Fingering, Hair Pulling, Kinda?, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Plot What Plot, Porn Without Plot, Questionable Consent, Reader-Insert, blowjob, but just to be safe, handjob, idk i don't think it's dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 20:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6871411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelikerain611/pseuds/lovelikerain611
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The burgundy dress had more to do with the sudden derailment of your plans than you thought it would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stepha](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Stepha).



> for Stepha, and inspired by this gif: https://67.media.tumblr.com/84d8c8a6e42922eb26c8b2fbe03dbd29/tumblr_nrwpjrlPlO1uvikceo1_500.gif which she said was Jared’s hand but I have a hard time writing rpf so. I have zero problems writing pwp with Sam. Figure that one out.
> 
> Anyway, this is gratuitous as fuck, but I’ve been in Stucky hell for the past four weeks, and this was a nice breather. It’s straight porn, no plot to speak of. warnings for: hints of Dom!Sam, hair pulling, a bit of orgasm denial (nothing serious), and Sam’s pretty bossy, though I suppose that would fall under the “Dom!Sam” umbrella. I don’t read it as dubcon, but if you’re sensitive to that kind of thing, I would proceed with caution. Sam is pretty insistent about getting his noodle sucked, but the reader doesn’t seem to mind. Still, no hard feelings if you peace out. I don’t want anyone to get triggered! I’m also a little lenient with how limber Sam and the reader are. I’ve never had car sex, but I would imagine it’s about like shower sex, wherein it sounds like a good idea in theory, but in execution is a little questionable. Still, it’s a smutty reader insert. The believability of the sex is hardly the biggest fictional issue here.
> 
> Stepha, you will never know all of the ways I am thankful for you.
> 
> xoxo ali

Car sex had been on your bucket list for—as long as you’d had a bucket list mature enough to contain mature themes, and you’d mentioned it to Sam once in passing, but you’d always pictured car sex involving significantly less clothes than what you currently had on. Not that you were complaining: Sam had jerked his tie loose and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt as he jerked the car to a stop on the shoulder. The ‘v’ of the unbuttoned shirt framed the hollow of his throat and the beginnings of his chest beautifully.

The burgundy dress was one of your favorites, admittedly, and, clearly, it was one of Sam’s favorites too. When he stopped the car, you turned to him, a question on your lips, but he pressed one long pointer finger against the crease of your mouth. You resisted the urge to suck that finger into your mouth; he’d removed it once he was sure you would obey and leaned across the console to press his lips to yours, one hand dragging up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair.

You loved it when Sam pulled your hair and you couldn’t help the soft moan that slipped into his mouth. He chuckled against your lips and you smiled, moving your hand to cup the side of his neck, brushing your thumb against the soft skin just under his ear.

Sam grunted into your mouth softly and broke the kiss, pressing his mouth to the curve of your chin, the hand not tangled in your hair suddenly warm against your knee.

“No talking,” he said, voice rich and deep, lips soft against your ear. You nodded and leaned back into the cup of Sam’s palm on your neck, legs parting almost automatically as his hand brushed up from your knee, smoothing along your thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

You expected him to tease you, and you inhaled sharply when he didn’t stop, just brushed his hand all the way up, under the skirt of your dress, long fingers pressing against the seam of your underwear, against the heat there.

“Fuck,” you breathed softly, forgetting your promise, and Sam offered you a dark look, a smirk tucked into the corner his mouth.

“Shhhh,” he reminded, leaning in to press his lips against yours as he brushed his fingers down your underwear clad pussy, pressing them hard against your ass, and then smoothing them back up. His pointer finger traced the elastic on the inside of your hip and you whimpered softly into his mouth, pressing yourself up, closer to him, wanting _more_.

He chuckled and slipped the pointer finger under the elastic, just for a second. _Here_ was the teasing you’d wondered about earlier and you felt the tendrils of arousal in your belly—already blooming healthily—grow exponentially and _erupt_ , an ache spreading down through your heat and your thighs.

You couldn’t help the shudder that rolled through you and Sam chuckled again, moving his lips down the column of your neck, sucking a dark bruise into the skin where your neck met your shoulder.

Your head rolled back against the seat as your hips rolled up, into Sam’s feather-light touches against your underwear.

“I bet I could make you come, just like this,” he murmured into your skin. “Bet I could make you soak your panties, sweet girl.”

He licked a wet trail up to your ear and you breathed out shakily, swallowing back the _Sam, please_ that rested at the back of your throat.

“What do you say, Y/N? Should I make your panties _drip_? I bet I could.”

You bet he could too, and you squirm a little in the seat of the car.

Sam’s chuckle was dark against your ear and another spike of arousal wormed its way into your belly.

“Oh, you want it, don’t you?” His tone was almost conversational, fingers still brushing lightly over the cloth of your panties. “You do. So desperate, so eager. So _sensitive_.” At _sensitive_ he pressed hard against your clit through your underwear and you turned blindly, lips finding the edge of his jaw hungrily, your hips rolling down against his fingers. He pulled them away and you whimpered against his jawline.

You moved your hands to fumble for the buckle of his pants and the delicious pressure against your heat vanished, long fingers curling around your wrist. You expect him to press your arm back up against your chest; instead he moves your hand down between your legs, pressing your palm against yourself. Unashamed and too horny to care, you rolled down against your hand, fingers curling against the barrier of your underwear.

Sam breathed out and shifted so he could watch you roll against your own hand and you don’t hold back, rubbing firmly against your clit as you leak into your underwear, hips finding a rhythm, a bump and grind against your hand.

Sam watched for a full minute, fingers still curled around your wrist, until your underwear was starting to dampen on the outside. He dragged your hand up your dampening underwear and then drew your fingers into his mouth, tongue laving around your fingers.

You couldn’t help yourself; at the sight of Sam licking your juices off his fingers, you moaned raggedly, the barest end of a “please, Sam” tacking itself onto the end.

“Shhh,” he reminded you through a smile, and released your hand, moving his own fingers back down to your cloth-covered pussy, settling into a rhythm, his lips meeting your ear once more. “You’re going to come in your panties,” he said, voice dark. You couldn’t stop the shiver that rolled through you at his tone; you groaned and he chuckled. “You are, and you’re going to come when I say.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he changed the rhythm of his fingers against your clit, firmer now, more insistent.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured into your hair. “That’s it, Y/N, that’s right. That feels good, doesn’t it? It does, I know, I know it does.”

You licked at your lips, an insistent ache spreading down through your thighs, into your knees. His name rested at the front of your mouth, but you kept your mouth shut obediently, rolling down into Sam’s touch.

“That’s it,” he breathed, shifting to press his lips into the top of your head, fingers working almost furiously now, rolling hard circles into your clit.

You couldn’t stop his name as it tumbled out of your mouth again, stammering his name as you rapidly approached your release.

“Please,” you moaned. “Please, let me—let me—oh, Sam, please—please—”

His fingers vanished, just as you started to crest. The orgasm vanished and you cried out, legs spread wide, underwear soaked. “Pl—please—oh—Sam—I—oh—” Hands shaking, you moved your fingers to your clit, but he gripped your wrist tight enough to bruise.

“No talking,” he reprimanded and you gasped instead, sucking in short bursts of air, the air in the car cool and teasing against your wet underwear.

You bit your lip to keep from begging, and Sam chuckled, moving his hand to work at his belt buckle.

“Since you can’t keep quiet,” he said, almost conversational, “we’ll just have to gag you.”

Your mouth watered instantly and you looked up at him, dress rucked up around your thighs, mouth open as you panted.

Sam’s smirk was just a few shades light of cruel and he unzipped his slacks, reaching into his boxers to pull out his cock.

You reached for it eagerly, but Sam’s hand beat you to it, gripping the base of his cock and stroking upward firmly. He groaned, head falling back against the seat and you watch him stroke himself for a long moment, precome beading at the head of his cock. “You want something?” he asked without looking at you, eyes closed and head tilted back against the leather of the seat.

You knew better than to answer, and he smiled after a minute, looking over at you, his hazel eyes dark with arousal.

“Good girl.”

Sam reached up to grip the back of your head and, with gentle pressure, brought your mouth closer to his cock.

You breathed heavily, mouth falling open automatically as you wrapped your lips around the head of Sam’s cock and began to suck.

Sam flexed his hips up to meet you, pressing his cock down your throat til the fleshy head nudged the back of it and you moaned around his length, drawing off slowly, cheeks hollow.

“That’s right,” he said, voice like syrup. “That’s my sweet girl.”

You pulled off and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of Sam’s cock before kissing down the side slowly, reveling in the heavy weight of it against your cheek.

Sam rewarded your efforts with a gentle tug on your hair and you sat up obediently, looking up at him. Sam pressed you back against the seat and your legs fell open as he brushed his hand up the same path he’d taken earlier, going farther this time, until he could slide his hand down the front of your underwear, brushing through your damp curls until he could slide one long finger up into you.

Your head smacked the back of the seat and you rolled your hips up, reaching over to wrap one of your hands around Sam’s cock, sliding your hand up slowly, brushing your thumb over the tip, and then back down as Sam fingerfucked you slowly, working one and then two fingers in and out at a maddening pace.

You could tell when he was close; his breathing changed and he shifted a little in the seat, spreading his legs a little as you stroked up and then down again, picking up your pace slowly. He worked a third finger into your heat and you groaned softly, hand going limp around his dick for a moment before you started up again, working to get him off before you got off.

You were on the cusp of orgasm again and you could tell he was close too—his cock bobbing as you stroked him, his cheeks flushed, mouth open—when he jerked his hand out of your underwear. You cried out at the loss, the ache in your lower belly and legs almost unbearable, but your discomfort didn’t last long; Sam’s hands shook as he undid the rest of his pants, rolling his hips up to drag both pants and boxers off.

“Underwear off,” he ordered roughly and you obliged, rolling your own hips up as you dragged your panties down, kicking them off into the floorboard of the car.

Sam leaned back against the seat, reclining the seat just a bit, before he stroked a hand up his cock and reached for you.

It wasn’t the most graceful thing you’d ever done (far from it, in fact) but you clambered over the console, dress rucked up around your hips as you straddled Sam and sank down onto his cock slowly, a long groan working its way out of your throat as he slid home. You loved Sam’s fingers, but nothing would ever compare to the way his cock filled you all the way up.

You leaned in and pressed your lips against the pulse you could see jumping in his neck, rolling down against him. Neither of you would last long—it didn’t take much before Sam was reaching between your bodies to press his thumb against your clit, didn’t take much before Sam was cursing and rolling up into you, pulsing hot and wet into you as you finally, finally crested, sealing your mouth against the skin of Sam’s neck as your hips rolled and jerked and you pulsed and shook and came, riding the last spasms of Sam’s orgasm with him.

You collapsed sweatily against Sam’s heaving chest, resting your head against his shoulder, his cock still nestled firmly inside of you. “What brought that on?” you mumbled into his wrinkled shirt.

He rubbed your back absently, playing with the ends of your hair. “Burgundy brings out the pink in your cheeks,” he mumbled sleepily, shifting a little as his cock started to soften.

You laughed softly into his shoulder and pressed a kiss against the skin there. “Sam Winchester, do you have a color fetish?”

“Fetish?” he repeated, dragging his fingers up your spine. “Not really. Just—seeing your cheeks flushed reminded me of how utterly gorgeous you look fucked out.”

“Fucked out?” you repeated. “I’m hardly _fucked out_ …”

“Oh?” the amusement in his tone made you grin against his shirt. “So, what exactly denotes _fucked out_ , then?”

“ _At least_ three orgasms,” you said decisively, looking up at Sam with a smile. “I mean, I’m not really fucked out until I’m babbling nonsense, now am I?”

“No,” Sam agreed, eyes darkening. “No, I suppose you’re not."

**Author's Note:**

> do we need a sequel with fucked out reader? hmmm...


End file.
